HOW I LOVE A GOOD VALETING
Not so long ago I took my car for a Gold Valet at a national car-wash chain. Usually I don’t go anywhere near car-washes or anything car-wash related. Whilst I’m not the kind of nutter who imagines that the giant foam brushes will crash through my windscreen or make me feel like I’m in a coffin, oh no no no, I’m still nervous of all those instructions about engaging certain gears, and stopping when certain lights flash, and how, if you’re not following the instructions, you might be KILLED or MAIMED in an unimaginably freakish way. But a valet sounds manageable. Even nice! I went as far as hoping it would mark the start of brand-new more organised me. Yeah, right. You see, I didn’t notice the small print, the invisible print, the print that should have been there: Do not bring your car for a valet here unless you like ritual humiliation. Do not bring your car for a valet here unless you like having shame heaped upon you. Definitely do not bring your car f...